Ardan stood at the center of the battlefield, the blue energy enveloping him like a living storm. His eyes glazed over, his mind blank, and the head on his necklace glowed a strange purple hue, merging with the pulsing blue aura. Light seemed to flash behind his eyelids, and suddenly his consciousness was pulled away from the present, drawn into a memory long buried.
The memory began with the soft sun spilling over rolling fields. Ardan was a child again, small hands caked with soil, tending to the farm alongside his parents. His village was one of the dark elves, low on the hierarchy, discriminated against by others for their faith in the Angel of Rebellion. Despite this, his home was filled with warmth. His parents, humble farmers, had taught him the value of hard work, patience, and kindness. Even the daily labor could not dampen his laughter, especially when he ran off to meet his friends after chores.
It was in these carefree days that he first saw her. Olivia. She had a smile that could light the darkest night and a warmth that reached into the coldest corners of Ardan's heart. They became inseparable, sharing both the trivial and profound moments of childhood—the taste of fresh berries, the way the wind carried the scent of the forest, the small victories in the village school. Trust and friendship gradually blossomed into something deeper, though neither dared to voice it until adulthood.
When they finally came of age, their love became official. They spoke of marriage, of children, and a life together in their small village. Ardan's heart felt full when he looked at Olivia, the soft curve of her lips in a smile, her eyes glinting with joy. But life, as it often does, was about to test them.
One day, Ardan traveled to a nearby city to sell the year's harvest. The sun was high, and the air smelled of dust and baked bread. As he carried his goods through the market streets, a group of adventurers blocked his path. They demanded his harvest, their voices harsh and threatening. Ardan stepped back, shaking his head firmly. "These are my goods. You won't take them."
The adventurers scowled, reaching for their weapons. Before the situation escalated, a flash of gold caught Ardan's eye. A man with a golden moniker strode forward, laughing casually, tossing a coin that landed at the adventurers' feet. The coin was worth more than they earned in a month, and their eyes widened. "Boss…?" one muttered.
"I've taken care of this," the man said, still chuckling, before the adventurers melted into the crowd. Ardan, surprised and wary, approached the stranger. "Who… who are you?"
"Name's Harvard," the man said with a grin. "Just a traveling merchant. Your from that dark elf village right? Heading your way anyway—thought I'd make a stop in your village."
Despite his initial reservations—outsiders weren't often welcome—Ardan offered to escort Harvard home. Surprisingly, the villagers accepted him without fuss. Harvard fit into their lives easily, helping wherever needed, speaking kindly to children and elders alike. Over time, he and Ardan formed a strong friendship. Harvard would occasionally leave, sometimes taking a few villagers along to give them jobs in other towns, but he always returned, a constant presence over the years.
Life moved forward, and Ardan and Olivia prepared for a new chapter. They planned to marry after that year's harvest, and Olivia was expecting their first child. Their days were filled with the joy of preparation, laughter, and quiet moments beneath the stars. When Harvard returned during the harvest, he worked alongside them, his presence a familiar comfort. At the end of the day, Ardan turned to him with a grin.
"Will you be my best man?" he asked.
Harvard's eyes widened. "Me? You're serious?"
"I am," Ardan replied. "You've been a part of my life for years. I can't imagine anyone else standing there."
Harvard smiled warmly, accepting the honor. Yet the next day brought a minor tension. Before selling their harvest in the city, Harvard leaned close and said, "If you're getting married, Ardan… you should have a proper position, something more stable than just farming."
Ardan hesitated. "I… this land has been my home for as long as I can remember. I can't leave it. I won't."
Harvard sighed but didn't argue. He respected Ardan's convictions, though a hint of worry lingered in his expression.
When they entered the city, Ardan's suspicions stirred. The same adventurers from before blocked their way once more. They looked older, more imposing, and Ardan tensed, expecting trouble. But Harvard stepped forward with a confident smile.
"They're mine," he said simply. "I recruited them so there'd be no issue."
Ardan's guard fell slightly, though confusion remained. He followed Harvard through the winding alleys to a quieter section of the market. Here, the path seemed unusually secluded. Harvard paused and looked at him seriously. "Leave the harvest behind. My men will handle it."
Ardan frowned. "Why…?"
"Trust me," Harvard said. His tone was firm, but calm. "This is for the best."
Ardan hesitated, then reluctantly agreed, watching as Harvard and his men carried the harvest into the shadows. A flicker of doubt passed through him, but the trust built over years anchored his resolve. For now, he followed.
Ardan followed Harvard through the narrow, twisting alleys of the market, unease crawling up his spine like a living thing. The sun was high, but the shadows between the stalls seemed unnaturally deep, flickering in the patches of light.
"Harvard… are we really going this way?" Ardan asked, his voice tight with suspicion.
Harvard laughed, a low, amused sound. His golden monical shimmered faintly under the market lights, the glint of his coin clasp at his belt catching Ardan's eye.
"Relax," Harvard said. "Trust me."
Ardan wanted to believe him, but instinct screamed otherwise. The unease tightened around his chest when one of the adventurers accompanying them suddenly lunged. Before he could react, a bag was thrown over his head. Panic surged through him as he struggled blindly, thrashing against the hands that grabbed him. A heavy thud echoed in the alley as a wooden log struck the back of his head. The world went black.
Even unconscious, fragments of voices filtered through the darkness. "…worth more as a slave than helping him…" "…what a pity, betrayed like this…"
When Ardan awoke, he was in a closed, dimly lit chamber underground. His head pounded as he blinked against the shadows. Chains bit into his wrists. Panic rose, sharp and icy.
He looked up and saw Harvard, laughing, standing beside a man whose presence alone radiated authority. The figure was tall, clad in a red noble cloak, a lion-shaped shoulder plate gleaming ominously. His hair was blond, eyes crimson, and his smile cold.
"Harvard… what is this? Why am I—?" Ardan struggled against his chains. "Why are we here? What about the harvest?"
Harvard's laughter faded into a smile that chilled Ardan's blood. "I'm sorry, Ardan… but you're worth more as a slave than on my side."
The words shattered him. Harvard, the friend who had guided him, laughed in triumph while Ardan's world collapsed around him. He tried to scream, to demand answers, but only silence met his cries. The two figures conversed casually, treating him like an object, an inconvenience.
Dragged away by the noble, Ardan's life was ripped apart. He was thrown into a mine, forced to toil alongside other slaves, swinging pickaxes against stone. Faces he recognized—villagers he had grown up with—were there, suffering the same cruel fate. Harvard had been selling them all along, disguising their enslavement as opportunity.
Days bled into nights. He was beaten, starved, and treated as nothing more than an animal. Hope faded. He watched countless lives extinguished around him, feeling the weight of impossibility pressing down on his chest. Olivia, their unborn child, haunted his mind, a constant reminder of everything lost. For a time, Ardan considered surrendering to the hopelessness, letting the darkness swallow him whole.
The only thing keeping him sane was the purple bead Olivia had given him upon reaching adulthood and proposing to her; this small, smooth fragment, a token from her family's Harewood, became his anchor amid endless torment, a tangible reminder of the life he once had—the warmth of her smile, the laughter they shared in fields under sunlight, the promise of a future now stolen, and every time he touched it, a spark of hope surged through his battered, chained body, pushing him to endure.
Then the revolt came.
Ardan was deep within the mines when the chaos erupted. The slaves, pushed past their limits, rioted, overturning carts, smashing cages, fighting desperately against the guards. The sound of screaming, steel clashing against steel, and the smell of blood and smoke overwhelmed him. Guards slaughtered indiscriminately, calling it order, and many slaves chose death over capture.
Ardan froze as he witnessed the carnage, his mind blank. Step by step, his instincts took over, guiding him toward a giant sword abandoned amidst the chaos. Reflexively, he grabbed it. Holding it felt like a tether to his own life, a lifeline he had never known he needed.
The unknown man appeared then—a figure cloaked in a hat and eyepatch, smoking lazily, his presence radiating danger. He burned the victorious slaves alive, calling them pests. Ardan only saw one thing: the sword left behind by the guards. Without hesitation, he took it, running as fast as his exhausted body would allow.
For days he ran, through forests, across plains, always fleeing. Along the way, others joined him—people escaping not only their captors but their guilt and past sins. Slowly, Ardan began to forge his own name, his own power. He formed a group, first to reclaim his village, then to exact revenge on Harvard. Over time, his dream of returning home mutated into something darker: a desire to pillage, to destroy the world that had wronged him, a world that had shattered every bond he held dear.
Years passed. Allies were gained and lost. He rose in power, but a sense of emptiness lingered, a shadow that no victory could dispel. Then came Kairo, a nameless lord who destroyed everything Ardan had built—his new family, his networks, his territory. Rage consumed him, snapping the last threads of his restraint.
Ardan's eyes snapped open, the memories collapsing into a single point of clarity. His aura surged around him, a storm of power and intent. Onyx, Flint, Theo, and even Kairo watched warily, knowing what was about to unfold.
The battlefield stilled, as if sensing the storm of Ardan's wrath. Every strike, every movement from him now would be decisive, unstoppable, inevitable. The last battle, the one that would determine everything, was about to commence.
And Ardan smiled, a predator ready to claim his world.
To be continued....